


Solstice

by modernKhione



Series: salva me, fons pietatus [7]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, POV Second Person, Pre-Relationship, Reincarnation, Souls, Tea, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29050545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernKhione/pseuds/modernKhione
Summary: On the longest night of the (human) year, you and Satan talk.
Relationships: Main Character & Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character/Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Female Character(s), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Series: salva me, fons pietatus [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777036
Kudos: 41





	Solstice

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my WIPs since July. Unfortunately, I am not a fast writer (or editor). There's still a lot I'm unhappy with here, so if anything is confusing, I apologise. I'm a bit sick of editing this one though, since I have a big backlog of other fics to work through, so I'm just posting it now to be done with it.
> 
> Thanks again to memoriast for proofreading! <3
> 
> Read the other fics in this series first for context.

“Have you ever wondered about the nature of souls?”

The question broke through the hazy silence, jolting you into wakefulness. You had been lounging on Satan's armchair in his library of a bedroom, slowly leafing through the pages of your Devildom Law textbook without really absorbing anything, your eyelids growing heavy. The question came as a surprise to you, though knowing your demon as you did, there was a connection to be found if you dug deep enough. So you shook your head, watching as his eyes narrowed, falling on your neck.

Oh, of course. “Is there something wrong with my soul?” You tilted your head, showing off the pact mark; green eyes followed that slight movement, intense. Your breath caught. Your heart beat faster, harder.

“Not wrong, no.” Finally, his eyes traced their way up your face, meeting yours. His lips stretched upwards, brows lifting. “It was an idle thought; I had always enjoyed reading the human philosophers on this subject.”

A false smile.

Your throat clenched tight in disappointment, but you tried to play it off, blowing air out, lightly shifting some stray hairs out of your face. “Well, I can’t say I have thought much about it. If that’s all then?” Hefting your textbook slightly, you stared into his eyes. They were lovely as the darkest summer greens, but lit inside, like sunlight through leaves. And they were also entirely pretense; the lightness was forced. Your demon was never so carefree as some of his brothers. Even his happiness was deep and dark, drawing you in, not barring you out like this feigned nonchalance.

“Of course.” He cleared his throat, at last looking away. “I’ll let you return to your reading.” And he turned back to his own book, a little battered paperback with a faded cloth cover. It had been red, once. As he lifted it up, faint traces of lettering caught the light.

i n g e n i u m a n i m a e

 _Animae._ Souls in Latin. Not so idle a thought after all.

But you turned back to your book for now; the two of you had scheduled a break in a half hour's time. You could wait until then. That little break in the monotony led you to try and do your readings with renewed effort.

The minutes ticked by slowly, quietly, but at last thirty of them had gone by. Satan snapped his little book shut with one hand. His lips quirked up at the corners for you as you got up and stretched. “What will it be today?”

You smiled back, a finger to your lips. “Won't be much of a surprise if I tell you, now would it?”

Satan chuckled lightly at that, and left you to your preparations—this tea was more to your taste than his, but you thought it was perhaps a good compromise between the herbal blends he preferred and the smoky, loose leaves that were your favourite. It would be fun to see if he would guess the components correctly; he hadn't lost yet, though neither had you.

A few minutes later, the tea was ready. (Having a demon heat the water for you really cut down on the preparation time too.) It was piping hot, a bit moreso than you preferred, so you blew on it gently while you watched him sip.

“This isn’t what you usually pick,” he commented.

You gave a half-shrug. “Stop stalling. Or can’t you figure it out?”

He laughed, though he cut it off short, as always. “You forget, of all my brothers, I am the most frequent visitor to the human world. Your ingredients are no less familiar to me.”

You raised your brows. “Do Satanic cultists really offer you tea at their summonings?” An image came to your mind, of dark hooded figures amassed around a glowing pentacle, holding out dainty tea cups on saucers. A giggle escaped before you knew it.

“No. Them, not so much.” He set the cup down with a small _clink_ , then leaned back. Satan rattled off a list of ingredients, one after another without pause. His face was utterly serious; there was no mask over his confidence.

You sighed your defeat. And it had been a complex blend too. “Well, maybe we need to give you a handicap next time.”

“I never took you for a sore loser.” But there was no menace in his words; his anger was not stoked so easily. And it was that which made you love speaking with him, with no need to think of consequences.

“It’s only a loss if I fail next time. We _are_ still even. Though you have centuries of experience on me.” You might have pouted a bit at the last.

Satan bent his head, acknowledging his advantage, but he didn’t say any more. The two of you savoured your tea in comfortable silence, looking at other books now, at your D.D.D.s, at the flickering of unnecessary candles, a possible fire hazard in this paper-filled bedroom. As you reached the dregs at the bottom of your cup, you decided to bring up his question again.

“So why are _you_ reading up on souls, anyway?” Satan looked at you, silent but unsurprised. His lips twitched—was he amused, that you had found him out? Was he annoyed? Though it was likely to be both, with him. You decided to elaborate, to force an answer. “Wouldn’t you be an authority on souls anyway, being one of the highest-ranked demons around?”

Satan picked up the book he had been reading, which he had left face-down, and flipped a few pages back. Then he handed it to you without a word.

Frowning, you took it. Satan usually liked to explain his thoughts, enjoyed an opportunity to showcase his cultivated brilliance. But then you realized you were out of your depth. “I can’t actually read Latin, you know.” Had he done that on purpose? You looked up, cataloguing his movements.

His arms were open, inviting, as he gestured to a shelf behind him. “There aren’t many books down here about souls.” And indeed the shelf he pointed out was very sparse. There were more collected antiques and knick-knacks on it than books, an oddity in his room. “You are right. We demons do see souls quite clearly.” His eyes dropped to your neck again. You fought the urge to cover it up; surely your soul wasn’t hanging around there? But he continued, still staring at the same spot, “Yet mortal souls aren’t meant to be/Stretched and housed eternally.” He spoke as if reciting an old adage, almost sing-song, in a voice you had never heard him use before.

He was getting distracted. You shifted your cup and saucer on the table, bringing back his attention. “What are you getting at, Satan?” Unbidden, your fingers began to play with the hems of the tablecloth. He was rarely so dissembling in his speech. Something important was being said in circles around you.

Satan cleared his throat, at last ready to offer a key to his thoughts. “Your dreams—your memories of that other life, have led us to believe you are some sort of reincarnated being.” You nodded. This had been established a month ago, shortly after exhausting other explanations, after Solomon shut down your questioning. Satan’s lips thinned. “The most common type of reincarnation describes the soul as having found a new body. Of retaining its experiences, but not its form in the physical world.”

“And that would fit my situation, right?” You worried your lip, trying to see what he was getting at. “So what’s wrong?”

“Your soul,” he said, eyes on your pact mark once again, “is weathered.”

You blinked. He seemed to want to end the conversation there, on a grave silence. A bit melodramatic, you thought, though it was endearing at times how much he took his social cues from his favourite dramas. But it was downright unhelpful right now. You inquired into the silence, since he was clearly lost in his twisty, winding thoughts again. “What implications does that have then? If a soul is weathered?”

A crease came between his eyebrows as he replied, “I don’t know.”

Oh.

A breath. Understanding flooded your mind. “That’s why you were researching then?”

“Yes.” A nod.

You took in another deep breath, wrangling your thoughts into comprehension. “And that’s unusual, is it, for a soul to be weathered?”

Another nod. Satan eyed you with as much concern as you had ever seen on him. That in itself was concerning, to you. Hysterics threatened to overcome your thoughts at that realization, but you banished it, shoved it down deep for now.

“And your brothers—did _they_ notice anything wrong with my soul? Have the other demons at school—?”

A slower nod this time. “They weren’t sure what to make of it. Though, it has put off some from wanting to taste you…and intrigued others.”

A slight shudder ran through you. That demons ate human souls—or even just humans, at times—was a fact of which you did not like being reminded. “Okay. So that rhyme just now—what were you trying to say? I’m going to die young?”

And now Satan’s eyes fell to the table, to the book you had put back in front of him. “It was a warning to those who would seek immortality. Diavolo’s—the prince’s father, the old Demon King, he said it once, about Solomon. Though any who would know what he meant are gone now,” Satan added, looking at you again, “And the king is asleep.”

“Right.” That was something you still didn’t quite understand. And it seemed taboo to speak too much of it, given the lacklustre answers your professors had given when you questioned them on the topic. You had garnered some looks—of varying degrees of friendliness—from your fellow classmates as well when you had asked. But moving on. “Do you think I’m in some kind of danger, then?”

And this was the first time you could remember seeing your demon so… helpless. He shook his head, a true grimace on his face. “I don’t know. But your soul has been looking more battered, of late. Since your dreams began. It’s fraying at the edges.” He didn’t meet your eyes. “It’s rare, but souls can disappear.” He continued, quieter now, “We don’t know where they go after, or if they even do anything more than dissolve into the cosmic aether. Perhaps the angels—or my brothers—know more, but nobody has ever spoken of it to me.” Even though his knuckles turned white as his hands gripped the arms of his chair, his voice never wavered. “That’s why demons are willing to have pacts, because it puts our claim on a soul. Our magic tethers the soul for long enough so we can hold it together to capture it, even if it is about disappear.”

This time, you let the silence hang in the air.

You watched the tea dry in your cup, into little brown rings staining the bottom. An odd sort of calm washed over you, the more you thought about it.

There was really nothing for you to do about this but more research, and wasn’t that what you both thrived on? And—if this really was related to your past memories coming back, to your past life—then didn’t it mean you just had more impetus to get a conclusive answer, come Hell or high water? Maybe your past self just wanted closure. You sure wanted it, after these last few confounding months.

You broke your silence. “The longest night of the year still passes eventually.” Satan banked whatever fires were in his eyes as he looked up at you. A smile made its way across your face. “Whether that’s good or bad, it doesn’t matter right now. Tonight is still special. So we should make the most of it. And—and once we know why the night is so long, it won’t be so scary anymore.” The metaphor was thin yet clumsy, and immediately, you wanted to throw it back into whatever awful primordial word soup it had come from. But it seemed to work, at least, and Satan’s mask of preemptive grief cracked.

“Yes. You’re right; I had forgotten. His eyes traced the features of your face; they seemed to smile, though his lips were left in their ever-present curve, gentle and false. That falsehood wasn’t for you though, and for now, knowing that was enough.

“Help me clean up?” you asked, picking up the now-cold teapot.

Some fire came back to his eyes as Satan’s lips bloomed into an open grin. “I’ll do you one better, since you did all the work.” He snapped his fingers, and the teapot floated away from your hands, just as you noticed the cups meandering off on their own in the direction of the kitchen as well.

You laughed.


End file.
